Mirrors of Royalty and Loyalty
by barefoot11
Summary: Prophecy tells of a young man, with his loyal servant, that will become the forbidden land's long-awaited Pharaoh. But Gilbert's not royalty and Matthew's not his helping hand! AU, Human names used, Prussia/Canada if you squint


The television's volume was perfect. The beer in his hand was just cold enough. The way the chair fit his body was amazing.

To say the least, he wouldn't mind spending his final moments right there.

But fate had other ideas.

A loud knocking came upon his door, but it wasn't as loud as it was excited. He simply sat there, though – he knew if he was persistent in his laziness the visitor would just go away. But when the knocking continued for a solid two minutes, Gilbert was annoyed. He gave up on pretending he wasn't there, but he wasn't about to give up his perfect spot.

"What is it?" he shouted, loud enough to put the neighborhood kids to shame.

"Gilbert," someone called from behind it, "I have something to show you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! It's pretty awesome."

That word was his weak spot, and with the use of it he knew exactly who was trying to pull his strings.

"Birdie," he said, "I don't feel like getting up."

The doorknob clicked and the wooden door swung open. Sunlight, like an unwanted image, pierced Gilbert's eyes.

"Lucky for you then," Matthew explained, looking triumphant in the way he was holding a golden key, "I have the spare."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Who gave that to you?" After a moment of stubborn silence, he shook his head. "It don't matter. Just what do you have that's so quote-unquote awesome? I'm the only one that can accurately judge that."

A smile responded to him, and Matthew moved to sit on the couch beside Gilbert's chair. "I was talking with Gupta today…"

"Why in the world were you talking to him?"

He quirked his eyes up and away from the covered object in his hands. "We met in passing. It doesn't really matter. But anyway, he said he had something for me. Which, I thought, was kind of weird, since I've barely talk to him before… but –"

Gilbert sat up straight, and quickly stole the mysterious object. He didn't dare pull off the piece of fabric shrouding it. "Be careful there, Birdie," he warned, holding it out as if it was about to come alive. "He probably meant that this was for your brother. And since we both know your brother, whatever someone's giving him must be to exact revenge!"

Doubtful, Matthew managed to get it back. "Why would Gupta want to harm Alfred?" he asked simply.

"Everyone wants to hurt Alfred for one reason or another," Gilbert said, taking a sip from his drink and frowning. He thought of his own reasons to bash in Alfred's face.

"Quiet, you," Matthew replied, smiling only a bit at the other's tone. "He told me not to open it in public, so I didn't. And I didn't really want to open it alone, since I'm so excited, so I came here."

Gilbert wanted to ditch his spot to take cover, but he still felt too comfortable. "…Yeah, I'm not too sure about that," he wearily said.

"Why not? Come on, please?"

"I'm not touching it!"

"You don't have to," Matthew said, taking the corner of the fabric and lifting it.

Beneath it was a large hand mirror. It was a reflective purple. On the handle, different designs and figures were etched in a gold color. A large, bead-like object was situated at the very top of it, catching in the light. The mirror itself had a cream-like color to it.

"How pretty," Matthew said, in awe.

Gilbert peeked over the pillow he had thrust before himself in self-defense. He smiled a bit, and grabbed it. "You're right," he said, looking at it and adjusting his hair, "it _is_ awesome!"

"Oh, please; you're just looking at your reflection."

"Exactly!"

Matthew took it back. Quizzically, he thought aloud, "I wonder why he'd give this to me…?" He ran his fingers, gently, over the frame, and paused when he approached the bead.

"Well, that was a hoot," Gilbert said sarcastically, as he turned his attention fully back to the television.

Carefully, Matthew stared at the bead and rubbed his thumb over it. "That's weird," he said mostly to himself, "there seems to be a lot of dust on it…" He brushed at it a bit more until, suddenly, a bright yellow light shot out from it. Matthew dropped it, so it clattered against the table, and the fabric on his lap fell to the ground when he stood. "G-Gilbert!" he stuttered, as a great wind picked up, sucking his clothes against his skin and pulling him toward the mirror. "Wh-what's going on?"

"How the hell should I know?" Gilbert asked, not listening, and oblivious even as the wind caught his hair.

Matthew called his name again, louder, as he lost control of his momentum and was thrust toward it. He pressed his hands against the table, but some force was still pulling him into the mirror itself. "Help…!"

Gilbert turned around this time, his mouth full of beer, but managed to swallow before his mind caught up to the situation. "Mattie!" Faster than he would have liked, he was out of his seat and had Matthew by the collar. "What the hell'd you do?"

Matthew was incapable of replying, since the wind picked up speed and within the blink of an eye, both of them were gone.

* * *

The next thing they knew, they were both face-down in an immense amount of sand. When they looked up, the sky was purple and showered with clouds. There was a dry heat, capable of making them feel almost instantly sweaty in their inadequate clothing.

Gilbert stood, looking around in dismay. "Aw, hell! Now I'll never catch my shows." He threw his hands up in a physical display of his distress. "Why do you always have to be the one causing trouble, Mattie?"

Still sitting, Matthew looked up to him with a scowl. "You've got that backwards, Mister Let's-Draw-On-Arthur's-Face-While-He's-Sleeping-To-See-What-Would-Happen!"

Gilbert chuckled lowly in nostalgia. "Ah, yeah. That was a terrifying next morning…"

After opening his mouth to respond, Matthew's words were stolen from him as an equally terrifying sight rose from their dusty-surroundings. He pulled on Gilbert's pant leg, alerting him to the sight as well.

An army of men, all identically dressed in blue with purple bands of fabric on them, came toward them, baring spears and other types of weapons.

"State your business," one of them said.

Gilbert prodded one of the spears with the tip of his finger, and was surprised that it actually drew blood. He had been sure that they'd been fake.

Moments passed, with Matthew too startled to say anything and Gilbert too apathetic. But all of a sudden, a change came over the men's faces and they got down on their knees, weapons dropped and forgotten. "All hail the Pharaoh," they chimed.

"What?" Both Matthew and Gilbert asked, their confusion painting identical expressions on their countenances.

Then, the men rose from their positions. Three of them roughly went to Matthew, bringing his hands behind his back and nudging him with their weapons to make him move forward. He shouted a bit in protest.

Gilbert, roused by the display, went to rescue his friend, but someone lightly took him by the elbow. "This way," they told him, urging him toward a huge pyramid that loomed in the distance.

"What are you doing with Mattie?" he cried. Every time he moved toward the other, someone would manage to get in-between them.

"Don't worry, your highness," someone told him, "your servant will be taken care of."

"'Servant'?" Matthew echoed. Then, "'Your highness'?"

"'Taken care of'?" shouted Gilbert, loud enough to overshadow Matthew.

* * *

Gilbert had talked aggressively all the way toward the pyramid. He defended Matthew, he defended himself, and he otherwise expressed his utter confusion. But as he ascended the first few steps of the pyramid itself, someone standing before him took his breath away.

With her dark hair billowing about her waist, a female stood high and proud. She was obviously respected by the troops of men, judging by the way they instantly fell to their knees before her. Her green eyes observed both of them quickly, but equally.

When Matthew had no idea why the others were bowing, and remained standing like Gilbert was, someone jabbed the back of his knees to force him down as well.

So Gilbert, amongst a crowd of submissive males, stood before the marvelous female, and he placed his heart in her hands. He broke the silence with, "How you doin', sweet thang?"

She was dismissive of his compliments. "Is this him?" she asked the crowd vaguely, motioning a well-treated finger toward Gilbert.

"Yes, your highness," said a member of the group.

"Mmm," she uttered, gazing over him. "It took you long enough."

The way she spoke made it clear that she was only addressing Gilbert and everyone else on the desert planes in front of her were invisible. With her steps elegant, she moved downward until she was right before Gilbert, ensuring more privacy to the situation.

One of the males, seemingly more important that the rest of them by the red coloring to his clothing, stood and walked to Gilbert's side. "There will be many inside to serve you, your highness. Your personal servant will not be necessary. Do we have your permission to move him to a more suitable position?"

In his mind, Gilbert vaguely felt a pull. Something was wrong with that question, something was wrong with the situation… but he couldn't look away from those green eyes.

Since the time for bowing had passed, Matthew was pulled back on his feet again. Beads of sweat on his forehead outlined his fear, and his helpless, wide eyes tried to meet Gilbert's own.

Even with two pairs of eyes staring at him, green was all Gilbert could see. It was if those green eyes – not his conscious thoughts – had formed the answer that fell from his lips. "…Yeah, sure; whatever…"

"Gilbert!" Matthew shouted, surprised, betrayed. Again, people pulled at his arms. He felt a fire of rebellion rise up in him, but when he tried to move from their grip, they twisted his arm unnaturally – at that point, he walked loyally before them as they lead him away.

When Matthew's trembling form disappeared into the pyramid's entrance, Gilbert smiled – a lazy, transfixed smile – and he told her, "Servants, huh? Always relying on ya for everything…"

* * *

His steps resounded against the walls of the pyramid, and it made Gilbert feel all the more important. The hallways were wide enough for tens to fit side-by-side, and yet, whenever a person encountered the pair of them – Gilbert, along with the beauty who said she was Elizaveta, the high priestess – they immediately stopped walking, bowed their heads, and didn't move until they walked passed them.

Gilbert felt he was getting the treatment he finally deserved.

Elizaveta took his arm in hers, and turned him into a room where a large mural was imprinted. Her hair fell against him, and she was touching him so softly.

She pointed upward at the wall, her smile wistful. "Our people had been in a sort of rivalry against another for so long. They wouldn't join us, and we wouldn't join them." After every fact she presented, she motioned to an image on the wall that corresponded. "A war broke out between us, quite naturally. And, well…" She scrunched up her cute little button nose, and said in obvious distaste, "They cheated."

"Cheated?" Gilbert asked coyly, loving her tone. But he couldn't say he was curious of her tale – he wanted to talk more about _him_.

"Yep. They had one of their mages trap our whole civilization into a mirror." Another picture on the wall demonstrated that.

_Mirror…_ Gilbert realized, _it must be the one Mattie had!_

"So we've been here ever since. I'm the fourth generation priestess…"

Gilbert broke. "What the hell does this have to do with me?"

"It has everything to do with you," she purred, resembling a cat, even more so in the way she tenderly rubbed her fingers against his arm. "The legend tells of a chosen Pharaoh who will come out of no where, along with his servant, and will replace the one who died in the war that trapped us here. Since he died, you know, we haven't had one… so it's very refreshing that you are here." She leaned closer to him, and seemed to breathe in his scent.

"Chosen Pharaoh?" He couldn't deny that the notion was appealing to him. "…Alright, then. Call me King."

Elizaveta laughed.

* * *

They left that heavily-guarded room – its importance was clear – and back into the main hallway. They walked down, still arm-in-arm, chatting about all the things Gilbert would be able to do as Pharaoh.

(The option of sitting around, doing nothing, while others popped grapes into his mouth was the most appealing.)

Then, the wide hallway gave way to an even wider room. It was almost completely bare except for elegant tapestries that fell from the ceiling and touched the floor, a large throne in the very middle, and a golden cage beside it that sat heavily on the ground. Many people who had been previously scattered about stood erect at their arrival. They moved to stand in two lines so that an impromptu pathway formed for the pair between them.

Gilbert grinned as he looked around.

They walked side-by-side down that pathway, and Gilbert pretended it was the red carpet, and those people were the bodyguards assigned to keep away all of his fans.

As he neared the throne, however, his fantasy was shattered.

In that golden cage to the throne's right, Matthew was sitting on his knees. His shoes were gone, and so were all of his modern clothing – a long, white material, similar to a baggy dress, hung from his shoulders and covered his folded and tied legs. His glasses were gone, replaced by a dirty blindfold, and his hands were bound behind his back. Tear stains were evident on his cheeks, and Gilbert finally realized what that pull from earlier had been.

_Danger, danger._

"Hey," Gilbert yelled, though he needn't too – the room had been silent, "what did you do to him?" He turned to face the group of people.

Elizaveta's presence hovered around his right shoulder.

"Do to whom, your highness?" someone asked of him, their tone pleasantly confused.

"Gilbert?" Matthew queried, upon hearing his voice.

"To him!" Gilbert pointed to the cage, to the person inside.

Eyes shifted toward Matthew, and then slid back to Gilbert. No expressions had changed.

Elizaveta laughed, and it sounded light and beautiful. "You must be ill from your travels, your highness –" Gilbert remembered telling her, in the hallway, when he had been under her spell, to simply call him by his name, despite his Pharaoh-ness. "–but this is how unneeded servants are held. Normally they are not even so public, but since you only had one, we put it by your side."

"'It'?" Gilbert repeated, his fury building like blocks. "No, no; his name is Matthew!"

The crowd was unresponsive. Whether it was because they felt no need to comment, or because they had no idea what was now coming out of his mouth, it was beyond Gilbert.

With a somewhat irritated look in her eyes, Elizaveta moved around Gilbert, and went before Matthew's cage. There, she bent down, and said lightly, her tone infectious and melodious, "Matthew, is that it?"

It took him a moment to respond, but he did with a weak, "…Yes, ma'am."

"Well, Matthew –" She said the name a bit sarcastically, as if it was all a joke that Gilbert had conjured on whim. "–you're just going to stay in here for the time being, alright? Now I know you can't even see where you are, but if you just stay there and stay silent, there will be nothing that will harm you. Do I make myself clear?" The last question was a continuation of the joke – servants, she thought, were not as educated and couldn't understand as well as regular people.

Matthew fidgeted in his spot. He moved his stinging shoulder and whimpered, "Yes…" His voice dropped, as if there was more he wanted to say, but he had no means to go on.

Elizaveta grinned a naughty cat's grin. "Now tell your master that you're alright. For some reason or another, he's very worried over you – though I can't imagine why. You don't want to worry him, do you?"

It was all playing out before them like a magic show. And with the words Elizaveta was saying, Gilbert knew Matthew would apply them to their real lives, and not the whole servant-and-master scene. So how Matthew responded wasn't all that surprising.

Matthew, sounding like a mouse in comparison to Elizaveta's cat-like disposition, said, "No, ma'am."

Elizaveta laughed again, and then tapped the bars as if she was teasing fish inside of a bowl. "And it's 'your highness'."

"Your highness," Matthew corrected, a bit too quickly, and then he dropped his head so his chin pressed against his chest.

Gilbert's fury changed into disbelief. "Oh, now that's just sick," he commented of Elizaveta, his frown hard on his features. He moved over to stand beside her. He clutched the bars, much tighter than he needed to. "Mattie, no, Birdie, don't listen to her…"

But it was all lost on Matthew. "I am alright, master," he said. "Please don't worry over me."

* * *

Gilbert had then been taken by the shoulders – lightly, much more so than he had imagined Matthew to have been – and directed to a connected room hidden by a ratty curtain. Once there, he had been pushed into darkness, and the only shred of hope was Elizaveta's sweet voice calling to him, "I'll see you when you're ready, darling…"

Ready for what, he wasn't sure, but he _was_ sure that he'd find out soon enough.

After a beat of time, Gilbert's eyes slowly adjusted, and hands were grabbing at him every which way from the corner of the room. His legs were pressed against one another so tightly, and he was forced to sit on something. First thing he felt were hands smashing his feet together, and then something was being wrapped around them.

Terror was a reoccurring thought in his mind, but nevertheless he tried to make light of the situation.

"That tickles," he told them, when they were wrapping his feet.

"Oh, aren't you naughty," he said, as they were wrapping his waist.

"Hey, watch it," he warned, when they got to his chest, "you don't want your Pharaoh to stop breathing, now do you?"

For the first time since he'd been pushed into the room, a raspy voice responded to him. "Don't worry. The 'stop breathing' part comes later."

And that same terror from earlier numbed his mind. He would have fought, but he was bound.

* * *

Next thing he knew, whatever he was sitting on was lifted above the ground. Gilbert almost fell forward from gravity, but something made him regain his balance. He sat back, and found that a large piece of rock was behind him, and pillows were placed to allow his comfort.

Not that he was the least bit comforted by that fact.

Then, sunlight pierced his eyes, creating a slight sense of déjà-vu.

When he looked around, he saw that he was wrapped in bandages, he was sitting on a portable but decorated throne, four strong men were carrying him on their shoulders, and they were moving quickly toward the front of the pyramid.

All Gilbert could do was hold on for dear life.

Later, he was placed at the very entrance to the pyramid, the place where they had first taken Matthew away at his approval. Thousands of people, all dressed similarly, stretched out across the desert hills that they had first arrived on.

Literally, Gilbert had been brought to where it had first begun.

Even Elizaveta stood there, looking so good in her gown and hair-pieces. She had a triumphant smile on her face, like the one Matthew had given him earlier…

Gilbert was allowed to dismiss all thoughts of Matthew when he noticed that Matthew had been brought out there as well, though not as marvelously. Matthew was forced to sit on the ground next to Gilbert's throne, still blindfolded, still shaking.

That was when Elizaveta started to speak, her voice like one of an angel's. "Rejoice, my people, for the chosen Pharaoh has arrived!"

Cheers rose, and Elizaveta smiled. Her hands were held out.

_Some sort of ceremony_, Gilbert thought.

"Now let us begin," Elizaveta said, "to serve under Pharaoh Gilbert's reign for thousands of years to come."

Gilbert was escorted off of his throne while his mind was still chewing over Elizaveta's last statement.

Now, two men went over to unlock a large tomb that Gilbert hadn't noticed before. They lifted the lid, and the crowd cheered.

Gilbert's first sense of panic came when he saw Elizaveta walk over to Matthew and whisper in the boy's ear, "When your master is gone, there will be no need for you, now will there?"

Gilbert frowned, just as Matthew's body trembled and he tried to scoot away from Elizaveta. But Elizaveta just laughed that sugary laugh and moved closer to him. "Now will there?" she repeated, intending for one answer that would be like icing on the cake for her.

Matthew got her hint. And in a voice laced with tears and horror, he stuttered, "N-N-No, your h-h-highness."

_Oh hell no_, Gilbert realized.

He fought against the ones holding him, but he only could with his arms. They were pretty strong, and moved him ever-so-surely toward the tomb.

"People!" Elizaveta cried, ever the enthusiast, "Please show your approval!"

The crowd's excited claps fell in time with Gilbert's racing heartbeat. Just as he moved to desperately bite one of the men's arms, he was dropped into the tomb.

With the grace of a princess, Elizaveta walked over to it, and hovered over Gilbert. "Any last requests, your highness?" she asked, loud enough for thousands to hear.

"Just one," Gilbert said, relaxing as a plan formulated in his mind.

Elizaveta's smile turned soft. "And what is it?"

Dramatic music, in Gilbert's mind, began to play in the background. "Could I have one of those bowls of grapes that you promised me earlier?" he requested. "I'm still sort of famished…"

"Certainly," she allowed, even though her eyes clearly displayed her unease. She stood fully. "Someone!" She clapped twice for attention. "Please bring our highness here a bowl of the finest grapes!"

That was all the time it took. In those seconds that she had spoken, Gilbert managed to retrieve the pocket-knife in his shirt pocket and slice all the bandages. In his haste, he had nicked his skin a handful of times, but it was the least of his problems. He stood up quickly and grabbed Elizaveta's soft, warm hand. As he jumped out of the tomb, he pulled her in, thus switching places. Gilbert closed the lid over her, but not without blowing her a kiss.

He pulled a heroic pose out toward the audience, and then ran to Matthew. "Birdie," he said lowly into the other's ear as he bent beside him to cut open all of the restraints, "don't ask questions. Just don't leave my side."

The blindfold came off last. He opened his eyes, but instantly closed them again. Matthew reeled. "I can't – I can't see," he cried.

Gilbert scowled. It was either that Matthew's eyes had gotten used to the darkness, and when presented to such intense sunlight so quickly rendered useless, or that without his glasses, Matthew really couldn't function. It was probably a mix of both. But Gilbert assured, "Don't worry. Just don't let go of me, then. We're getting out of here."

Shouts and screams had risen from the audience the moment Elizaveta had been captured. The din only added to the urgency of the situation. Gilbert's mind was spinning, and Matthew's hand was shaking, but Gilbert still managed to grab that hand and make a run for it.

Their bare feet burned against the sand. Each step proved to be more painful than the last, but neither was paying all that much attention to it. Gilbert turned his head once to see that someone had pulled the lid off of Elizaveta, and fuming, Elizaveta pointed to them and shouted, "Guards, after them!"

Gilbert cursed, and picked up his speed. Matthew was fumbling behind him – obviously uncomfortable at running with his eyes closed – but he never let go.

Finally, Gilbert found a building structure large enough, he knew, to hide them for the time being. He ran into it – warning Matthew about the steps – and instantly turned down a hallway and into the first – and seemingly only – room he could find.

He stopped in the doorway, panting, and stared at the room before him.

A large throne made of sand was formed against the back wall. Everything else was dark and bare. On one of the throne's arm rests, something glinted.

"Mattie," Gilbert said, eyeing that object with a sense of intellect, "it's a lot darker in here. I think you can open your eyes."

Matthew did, and blinked a few times before capable of finding Gilbert. Instantly, he was on hyper drive. "Gilbert, what in the world happened? What are we going to do? How are we going to –?"

Gilbert interrupted him. "See that thing over there? Go and check what it is."

Matthew seemed weary, and obviously doubtful of how the object would help, but he obliged and took cautious steps toward the throne.

That was when Gilbert heard the storm of footsteps within the building. He cursed. "Matthew, hurry up," he said in a hushed and hurried whisper, moving out of the doorway.

Matthew made a noise of misery as he climbed up the sand throne and fisted the object.

"What is it?" Gilbert demanded, when his friend seemed speechless.

Matthew had to pull it closer to his face to see it properly, but when he did, he was sure of what he'd found. "It's – it's the same mirror that Gupta gave me. But only it's… blue." He turned the mirror to face Gilbert.

"Good," Gilbert assessed, as the footsteps grew closer. "Now, whatever you did to the thing to get us here – do it again. It'll probably get us the hell out."

Matthew seemed uncertain.

"Just think, Mattie!"

"But – but what if it just takes us somewhere else?"

Gilbert couldn't help but get a bit infuriated. "Anywhere else would be better than here right now! Do you want to stay here, where they think you're nothing more than a lowly servant? I sure as hell wouldn't."

The pep talk only seemed to induce more uncertainty.

"They're coming!" Gilbert shouted then, on the verge of hysteria, when he could plainly see the faces of their followers. He ran, and scrambled up the throne until he was beside Matthew. "Please, Birdie, try to remember."

Matthew's mind blanked, like it did under pressure. His body relaxed, and his unfocused eyes became glazed. He stared at that mirror, and could only think, _the bead looks really dusty…_

And his hand, mechanically, moved to brush that dust away.

A light surged from the mirror. It shook, and Matthew dropped it so it sat back on the arm rest. Suddenly, a harsh wind picked up, blowing Matthew's white clothing and Gilbert's wild hair.

"You – You did it, Mattie," Gilbert said, awestruck. Then, in a whirlwind of gratitude, he repeated the exclamation. "You did it!" He grabbed Matthew by the shoulders, his grin broad and proud. "We're getting the heck out of this hellhole!"

Elizaveta rushed into the room. "Not so fast," she screamed over the wind. Her guards were blocking the doorway.

It was the last image Matthew and Gilbert saw before the mirror took them away.

* * *

Gilbert was face-down and backward on his favorite chair, but it was still his favorite chair. He pushed himself up with his hands, but he was a little too fast and fell forward onto the floor. As he stared, blinking, up at the ceiling, he had one thought. _I'm free!_

Then roaring green eyes intruded his vision with tendrils of long hair and he took it back.

Gilbert jumped, naturally surprised, and sat up. "What the hell are you doing here?" he screeched, all of his anger and frustration tied up in his words.

"What do you mean what the hell am I doing here?" she asked him, her voice airy and happy. "I'm back in my own world, thanks to your little escape!" She crossed her arms contentedly, looking around her. "Though it has changed…"

His eyes bulged, and he rubbed at his head. A headache was crawling across his skin. He didn't even know how to _begin_ of thinking how to solve this problem.

Then someone was knocking on the door, and he thought nothing could get worse.

"What?" Gilbert shouted, motioning for Elizaveta to be silent.

"Gilbert, I would just like to inform you," someone called testily from behind the door, "that I need that broom you borrowed from me last week."

With his shoulders sagging, he responded, "…Not right now, Roderich…"

Matthew hadn't locked the door from earlier. Roderich opened the door, and walked right in, his eyebrows pressed together in fury. He set about disciplining Gilbert as if he was a young child. "Gilbert, you know how reluctant I was to let you borrow that thing. But no, you swore that you would –" His voice died, and his eyes were locked.

Gilbert, who had resorted to staring into space at the beginning of one of Roderich's rants, shook himself when the talking stopped. He looked to find Roderich staring at Elizaveta.

Both of them had expressions on their faces of school children embracing in a first romance.

_Oh, you've got to be kidding me_, Gilbert thought, but then he realized how many of his problems it could solve. He placed one hand on the back of his neighbor's back, and one on the royal priestess's. "Roderich, meet Elizaveta – my, um, cousin who just flew in from… ah, Foreign-place...ia! And Elizaveta, meet my neighbor Roderich." With introductions placed, Gilbert pushed them out of his doorway. "Why don't you take her out for ice cream, Roddy-ol'-boy?"

"What's ice cream?" Elizaveta asked of Roderich.

"They don't have it where you're from?" Roderich asked in return, and then they were gone.

Gilbert slammed the door, and inhaled deeply. The air tasted so different from the air in that desert… and with that thought spurred another.

"Hey, Mattie?" he called, his heart beating loudly in his chest when he couldn't see his friend. Did the mirror have a two-person limit, and did Elizaveta take Matthew's place? Without Gilbert, surely those guards would simply –

"…Gil…"

"Mattie! Where are ya?" Gilbert looked around, but still couldn't catch sight of where Matthew's weak voice was coming from.

"Behind the… couch," Matthew said, with great effort.

Scrambling, Gilbert pressed his knees into the cushions of his couch and peered over. He saw his friend, laying there, a hand over his heart and a very sickly expression. "What're you doin' back there?" he asked of him, his amused grin evident.

Matthew groaned, "The teleportation… thing must have dropped me off wrong…"

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

His answer was quick. "Heard that woman's voice, and it kind of shocked words out of me."

Gilbert laughed. "She did that to me, too."

Matthew didn't want to remember. "Where is she now?"

"Oh, I gave her to Roddy. I'm sure he'll take care of her."

Standing up, Matthew slowly and carefully moved to sit properly on the couch again. His friend sat beside him. "…Are you sure that's a good idea?" He fidgeted experimentally, making sure nothing, at anytime, had been broken. His glasses and clothing were back, fortunately enough.

"What harm could it do?" Gilbert asked.

As there was a crashing of cars and screams outside of the house, Matthew frowned tiredly and commented, "…And you said I was the one who started trouble…"

* * *

**A/N**: Look, I'm not dead I'm not dead I'm not dead~!

This one-shot was inspired by an episode from "The Garfield Show". I feel childish for it, but eh.

And the screams and car crash thing at the end was supposed to be comical, like you see in… well, comics. :D

Gupta = Egypt, if you didn't know that already.


End file.
